


The Best Of You

by badluckvixen13 (alteringviews)



Series: 1 Million for Black Hermione [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Hermione Granger, Divorce, Domestic Violence, F/M, Miscarriage, Molly Weasley Bashing, Past Abuse, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:43:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9592697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteringviews/pseuds/badluckvixen13
Summary: Four years after the war is over, everyone sought their happily ever after. Harry and Ginny married; Luna and Neville married... Ron had finally gotten his head on straight and asked Hermione to marry him, so...So why does she feel so empty?Perhaps she should have taken the time to get her own head on straight in the aftermath.





	1. I'm Your Fool

**Author's Note:**

> So remember that really dark Black!Hermione story I was working on, yeah this a step above that one. I thought it best to build up to it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How had it come to this?
> 
> Oh yeah... she hated herself.

Sitting in her office, she sighed. Relieved, relaxed and dreading returning to that quiet little house on a wizarding street in the middle of that muggle neighborhood she called home. Dreading it more that he might be there and than the reality that he probably wasn’t. 

Strange, wasn’t it? 

It was strange how the sight of Ron seemed to turn her stomach more often than not these days. How the thought of him touching her filled her with so much self-loathing that she could hardly stand it.

Or perhaps, it really wasn't strange at all. As he said, she should be  _ ashamed _ of the way she'd  _ let herself go _ . And she'd known for a while that her own name was at the top of her public enemy list with no others below it.

_ Stop it, Hermione,  _ she scolded herself.  _ Be logical. _

Stranger still, there was no comfort in being logical… she was beginning to wonder if there ever was. After all, putting the problem aside to take care of other issues didn’t make the issue go away. She looked over to her small lab, the smallest in the clinic with all of her old tools from school because she’d sacrificed to make sure the main lab had the best. The main lab did have the best and her company was  _ the _ best at the moment. The best in the wizarding and muggle world, the best at what they did. It was truly the best of her.

Her personal life was circling the drain, if not already vanished into the pipes, but at least she had her work.

When the war was over, she thought they had a chance to set the years of torment and running around one another firmly behind them. She’d let go of the frumpy clothes, the masquerade of just being the Brightest Witch of Her Age. She was a warrior now, a veteran in her own right and she saw in the world a great need that hadn’t been addressed. She’d thrown her heart and soul into fixing it, into living her life and, for her dedication, she’d received a First Order of Merlin, a marriage certificate, a career in the wizarding medical field and Ron, the man she’d been more or less been chasing after all of her school days. 

She swallowed the taste of bitterness at the back of her mouth and the knowledge that she’d become just a shell of what she projected to the world. A plain brown bottle shaped figure holding boggarts, ghosts, and scars, wrapped in nice clothes.

_ Don’t understand what’s so special about it. Think everyone’s just falling all over whatever rubbish you do because of that stupid medal. _

She felt the words again, a fresh new pain right alongside the logic, the data, and the proven facts that had sent her on this mission. The war had been about death and she’d entered a career only about life. 

You see, in between all the wizarding world’s bigotry, the statuses, and terror, there was a problem that no one seemed to want to talk about: the decline in birth rates. Wizards were a dying breed, and dying quickly with the turn of the war leaving so many dead or unable to ever have children. Some research, old dusty papers she’d had to scour the archives of several ministries for, pointed to inbreeding as the issue, not just among pureblood families, but between wizards themselves. More and more squibs were born resulting in muggle born witches and wizards centuries later and if not squibs then still-born children. In the wizarding world, it seemed that there was not much difference while muggles famously would rather have a malformed child than not one at all. 

Either way, the great sorrow, and shame that hung over the heads of women, magical or muggle, of not bearing children they thought they should was palatable. After all, it wasn’t just a magical issue. 

One woman died from childbirth or pregnancy complications every minute in some places in the world, some even more than that and since the rise of Voldemort, trace amounts of various wizarding potions in the muggle water supply had led to a global decline in birth rates as well. 

_ My Mum’s had plenty of children without help.  _

She let out a breath and set her paperwork aside with a sigh. She'd bitten back the fact that Molly was a special case of woman who had, per her medical records, gone through so many fertility rituals that had been long since made illegal as a child of a pureblood family that she was bound to have a brood of children whether she used contraceptive charms and potions or not.

She'd learned that arguing with Ron only made him meaner about a day into their marriage. 

How had this happened? It seemed that everyone had found their little niche in the wizarding world where there had not been one for them before.

Draco had taken over his father’s business and reshaped the image of the Malfoy name into something that didn’t inspire pure rage of indignation. George had reopened the joke shop and absorbed Zonko’s in the process. Ginny was now the team captain and lead Chaser for the Chudley Cannons, married to Harry and happier than ever. And Hermione had started a business after helping the Ministry develop a compatibility charm to help ensure stable relationships in the wizarding world as part of the Ministry’s “Hope For The Future” campaign. While the Ministry suggested that everyone undergo the charm, it wasn’t required. Taken alone, it would tell you something about what kind of person would be most compatible with you, and you with them. For couples, it told them how likely it was that they would be happy together. 

Her business was in the field of fertility and since the beginning, she’d hired all of ten people to her staff and had over fifty cases of formerly barren witches and muggles well on their way to having children. 

The first child born from the recommendations and programs she’d developed had been Draco’s daughter interestingly enough. Something the blonde haired man had been eternally grateful for as he held her gently in the hospital room and the Daily Prophet blasted it across the pages. 

Soon her name and her business became heavily associated with the Ministry’s new campaign to get over the world, hope for the wizarding race to not only survive but to grow. In the muggle world, she’d joined the ranks of several well-known fertility clinics that were high quality but worked with people of all socio-economic levels. Gaia’s Temple, as she’d named it, had been incredibly successful thanks to Hermione’s wide-spread research, Neville’s talent with botany, Luna’s connections and support. 

Harry had become an Auror and she had a sneaking suspicion that Kingsley was grooming him to take over when he retired. Ron had become an Auror as well. 

After the war, Harry had thrown himself into cleaning up the Ministry alongside Hermione. When the bulk of the clean up was done, Hermione had left and Harry had taken over. Ron had basked in his newly acquired fame and had generally followed Harry into the Auror corp on the basis that he’d been involved. 

She looked at the clock and swallowed, packing up her bag and taking a glance at her own brown face in the reflective surface of her private lab. She was only twenty-one now, but her eyes seemed so much older. 

She used to think it was the war, but now she knew that it was all the things she didn’t want to think about--like her parents and Ron. The war… and Ron… her marriage to Ron.  How complicated finding happiness within the path that seemed logical seemed to be.

_ Is like looking through binoculars for bear when bear is behind you, _ she smiled thinking of Viktor, perhaps he was right, where her guilt and self-hatred fit into that, she didn't know. Perhaps she was wearing earbuds and frozen solid while bear hunting too.

“Hey Hermione,” Neville said poking his head in. “You heading out for the day?”

Hermione nodded, “I think so. Did you need anything?”

“No,” he said shaking his head. “Just wanted to check on you...and give you a head’s up.”

She blinked, “On what?”

Neville licked his lips, “Harry’s been reassigned.”

Hermione closed her eyes and nodded, “T-Thanks Neville.”

He nodded, “If you need… a place to stay--”

She shook her head, “It’ll be fine, Neville. Thank you. Go on, I know you and Luna had plans tonight.”

He nodded looking at her as she finished packing up and shrugged on her coat, buttoning it and walking to the door. She walked out the front door with Neville just behind her and locked it behind her. 

There was a wizarding pub not too far away that people used to get to her, but for the sake of having a business that spanned the two worlds, she decided on a fully muggle building in the heart of London. She walked down the street and disapparated to the quiet street the house she’d bought sat on and decided to walk down the street rather than just appear on her front doorstep. It was a wizarding street in a muggle area, but she dreaded it either way. 

It was practically unheard of for any Auror to be reassigned for any reason. The fact that Neville said that it had been Harry to be reassigned meant that Ron had either been kicked out of the corp or demoted to desk duty.

It may have also meant that they’d fought, or maybe Ronald had screwed something up with his sloppy wand-work. She sighed shaking her head, not really wanting to deal with it, but knowing she had no choice. They were married, she’d taken her vows seriously and she would be there for him as much as she could be. After all, everyone was hit hard by the war, Ron was no exception.

In the beginning, it had been as simple as offering her help with his reports as Ron was a rubbish writer, had always been since school. He’d refused her help, stating that he would do it himself, they weren’t in school and he no longer needed her help for anything. When his Auror exam hadn’t gone so well, she offered her help again and he’d refused it, taking to the bottle rather than accept that he needed to study harder.

_ I don’t need your help. Don’t you have another ten pounds to put on? Seriously, you’re almost as big as a horse now. _

She’d swallowed that, hearing the slur in his words. He was drunk, not really in his right mind and his pride had been scorched. She remembered him throwing the latest Daily Prophet at her, the headline detailing the birth of the Malfoy daughter and all the attention Gaia’s Temple was getting. 

_ Always have to be in the spotlight do you? Surprised no one's talked about how bloody fat you are! Seriously, you take up most of the bloody picture! _

He’d been sloshed, the smell of fire-whiskey on his breath as he glared at her. 

_ Shut it down, _ he’d demanded. Oh, how they argued about Gaia's Temple. And, oh how little she’d felt, defending a much grander cause. 

_ Think about the future _ , she’d said.  _ The generations of wizards and witches, of people who may not be born if someone doesn’t fix this. _

_ And it has to be you, doesn’t it? Fat arse Know-It-All? _

She blew out a breath remembering that argument along with all the others. The reason she was still Hermione Granger. The reason she wouldn’t ever stop doing what she loved. It was astonishing to think that she’d given him everything, bared her soul and all of her insecurities to him. Astonishing to think how little and insignificant he made her feel even with all the publicity around her name. How everything seemed to be a double-edged sword meant to skewer her...

Even now that they were out of school and she’d grown into her body...

_ You’re bloody rubbish at it. I thought you were the brightest witch of your age, can’t even give a bloody blow job properly… _

To have them thrown in her face...

_ Studied hard, did you? With who? Draco--you fucking slag! _

Over and over again…

Her jaw trembled and she hung her head as she arrived on her front porch. She’d chosen the house and they’d fought about that too. Ron insisting that they could just live at the Burrow or Grimmauld rather than buying an expensive place… It was a rather modest house, though beautiful. She wanted a fresh start and hadn’t even asked him to pay for anything to furnish it. He’d thrown a fit about it, asking her if she thought he couldn’t. In the end, he didn’t and they argued over everything--money, Harry, her career, his career…

“I’m home!” She called out into the quiet house.

She stepped in and took off her coat, taking her briefcase to her home office and slipping off her shoes. 

“Is that how you go to work every day?” Ron asked, turning on the light in the living room, an empty tumbler and bottle on the coffee table. 

Hermione looked down at her clothes. A conservative, well-structured, high-waist skirt and blouse. She’d had meetings with the Ministry officials about some data they wanted to share with her and programs they wanted to pitch to her. Meeting with the head of the Department of Health and Wellbeing for the UK as well.

She looked like an executive because she’d had a rather executive day. Usually, she wore whatever was best to work in the lab: trainers, scrubs...Jeans if she felt like it.

“I had meetings with the Minister,” she said, “Are you hungry? I could--”

“Meetings with the Minister? About what?”

“Some new data,” she said. “An idea for a program they wanted to run by me.”

He scoffed and stood up, “ _ A program _ . Right, you’ve never been so dressed up for me… not that you could wear anything in your closet anymore. Perhaps you should cut back on your fancy meetings and you wouldn’t have to buy so many clothes.”

She blinked, “Just because you haven’t seen me in it, doesn’t mean that it’s new, Ronald.”

He glared at her, “Well it should mean so since I never see you  _ out  _ of your clothes.”

She bristled, “You said you didn’t--”

“What good is having a wife if I can’t bang her when I need to feel better?” Ron asked standing up. “You know they reassigned me today. Desk duty? Can you believe that?”

“Oh,” she said. “Are you injured?”

He snorted, “Doing what--paperwork? Don’t be daft.I haven't been on a case in months since Dragoslav.”

She licked her lips as he brushed past her, trying to have just one night not end in fighting. She was exhausted, really. A million and five things that she still had to get done and would get done with the proper amount of planning and execution. There were people counting on her and in that she could always be secure. 

She had not failed them in the war. She would not fail them now-- no matter how small she felt on the inside.

“Well, aren’t you going to console me?” Ron asked looking at her. “What else is the use of you if you aren’t going to try and make me feel better?”

Hermione smiled tightly, “Would you like something to eat? I-I could make your favorite.”

“Later,” he said giving her that look that made her skin crawl. It feels like her honeymoon, cut short because she was--

“Come here,” he said gruffly, grabbing her arm. “Make me dinner later. Get undressed.”

She swallowed, her stomach churning and she reached for her blouse’s buttons. 

“Do it right,” he growled at her. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better.”

She closed her eyes, trying to swallow down her pride enough to strip for him, feeling his gaze on her brown skin, feeling it burn and turn to ash. She wanted to run, hide, do anything but this. Her pride whimpered somewhere in the dark as she told herself that they were married, that it was only temporary, that she’d been through worse than this. That it would get better, that maybe this time it would be better, that he’d be gentle, caring, perhaps even make love to her like all the romance novels she’d read in secret.

Because how could you always be logical without a dash of fantasy? There had been Hogwarts and romance novels, the Triwizard Tournament, nights of no sleep and Viktor… There had been cold nights, hungry and miserable in the forest searching for Horcruxes and in cold dungeons being tortured for information and dreams of the Burrow, Ron, and family.

Yes, she’d been through worse than this little chip on her pride, but at the moment, she couldn’t think of an instance, looking at the shattered pieces around her. When she’s naked, she wraps her arms around her ribcage to support her breasts as he yanked the pin from her hair so the riotous curls came tumbling down around her shoulders.

“Don’t you ever straighten this nightmare?”

She swallowed.

“You did it for Krum. I’m your husband, remember?”

“I--”

“Straighten it,” he said, tugging on a curl and letting his eyes roam over her. “Turn around.”

She swallowed, “Ron, I--”

“Turn around, ‘Mione,” he said shoving her against the counter and her hands rested on the countertop and her jaw trembled, her eyes staring off into the distance and she yelped as he forced two fingers into her.

“Blimey, Hermione, you’re so tight. Relax.”

She tried, closing her eyes and telling herself that she just had to endure it. She just had to bear it until he was done, until it was over until she could curl up on the couch, wrapped in blankets, or sink to the floor in her shower and sob until it just stopped hurting. 

He made a disappointed sound and withdrew his fingers, “Never mind. Can’t even get hard looking at you, fucking disgusting. Get dressed.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, but didn’t hesitate, grabbing her clothes from the floor and sliding her shirt on, carrying the rest of it towards the washroom and down the hall towards the bathroom in her room to close the door behind her and turn on the shower, hoping that the scalding heat of the water would go deeper than just turning her palms red beneath the spray. She watched her brown skin redden under the heat and the scrubbing of her towel against her skin. Enough to irritate, but never enough to get that dirty feeling off.

When the first sob comes, she finds that she doesn’t even care if he can hear her and that it hurts more to know that he isn’t listening...because he didn't care.

By the time she got out of the shower, he was properly sloshed and grabbed her, wrestling her down to the couch, hissing at her as she cried out in pain at every thrust. No preparation, barely a thing layer of spit to ease the way. 

It was punishing...

Yes... punishing was right.

“You're hurting me!” she heard herself say from so far away, surprised that she'd even managed to say it this time.

Punishment was supposed to hurt, remember?

“You should be thankful I’m even touching you,” he sneered, thrusting harder, almost viciously, delighting in her discomfort. “Relax and enjoy it. Wives are supposed to please their husbands after all.”

She wasn't... she wasn't just his wife. She sure as hell didn't feel like it under him like this--shoved down like a whore in an alleyway. 

Hermione grit her teeth. clenched the cloth of the couch, shut her eyes and let it vanish to the place inside she'd sent Bellatrix's knife carving into her arm and the nights of hunger. When he’s done, his hips stuttering to an end, she can feel him shove her away and get up, grumbling about dinner. What she can’t feel is anything else, curled up on the couch, listening to him mess about in the kitchen and say something about going to the Burrow later that week for something. 

It's a cold empty feeling that drags her to her room and closes the door behind her, sinking naked to the floor of the master bedroom. The room she was supposed to be sharing with the husband that didn't love her, who slept down the hall in the spare because he only wanted to pay for that space. Her body ached, his seed sliding slow and lazy out of her onto the hardwood. Her eyes burned, but she felt nothing. Nothing but an itch on her arm that felt like  _ mudblood. _

She remembered going to the Burrow, but not what was said. She remembered that she smiled, that she laughed, she played with the kids, she talked to Molly and listened and listened to her advice about marriage. She remembered coming back and wishing more than anything that his touch didn’t make her feel so worthless.

Wishing that she was strong enough to tell him to stop, but the words don’t come from beneath her logical mind, the side that got her through the war. 

_ Who else would want you, Hermione? _

_ What else is there? _

_ The Weasleys are your only tie to the wizarding world now. _

_ They're your only family now... _

_ You’ll lose everything. _

_ Harry… _

_ Gaia… _

_ Everything. _

_ Mudblood. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone if this hurts a few of your Hermione x Ron feels, but... I really don't like Ron.


	2. The Life, The Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well it isn't Jellhopper, so... 
> 
> Either way, she's woman enough to deal with the consequences, even if her husband isn't.

The world comes slowly, like waking up from a dream. She wondered if the days of being unable to really stomach anything had finally caught up with her and she’d passed out somewhere in the clinic. Hermione woke up on a gurney in her own clinic, not really sure why. She’d been… 

What had she been doing?

_ The Lab… _ she thought. She’d been in the lab working on…

“Hermione?” She turned her head to look at Ginny sitting at her bedside and smiled.

“Hey…” she greeted with surprise, “What are you doing here?”

Ginny told her that they flooed her in place of Harry since he was off on an assignment. She doesn't ask why it's Harry and not Ron as her emergency contact.

“They said you fainted in the lab.”

She frowned and nodded, she remembered that. Remembered feeling a touch ill while on the phone with Adriana that morning, an old friend from her muggle school days. They’d been making plans to catch lunch together, plans to get Hermione to come to a get together with a bunch of people from the grammar school days and have a bit of fun that she so desperately needed.

“Oh…” she said. “I… have been feeling rather off lately.”

Luna came in, beaming at her, “Well we’ve run all the tests. And it isn’t Jellyhoppers, so you’re pregnant.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and Ginny’s jaw dropped, “What?”

*

Molly squealed, throwing up her arms with joy and hugging Hermione tightly. It was supposed to be dinner and Hermione had made Ginny swear to keep it a secret until she could figure out what to do, what her options were and a whole host of questions that needed to be answered.

“I’m so happy dear!”

Hermione frowned, “About what?” she asked.

“You’re pregnant!”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she felt Ron stiffen beside her, “H-How did you know that?”

“Well Iva, heard--seriously dear did you think you could keep such a secret from me? Come, come, come…”

Hermione didn’t even know who Iva was, but she could bet she was someone distantly related to someone who worked for Gaia in some fashion. She knew Molly was gunning for Hermione to give her the next set of grandchildren, but hearing Molly talk about them made her feel oddly protective of the baby that didn’t even have a gender yet. Molly pulled her away as Ron walked in and for the first time in a long time, he smiled looking at his mother, hugging Hermione and laughing, she thinks that maybe trying to figure out how to tell him, what to do was a mistake as he seemed so overjoyed, even giving her a kiss to the cheek, the only sign of affection he’d given her in the years since they’ve been married. 

That little light of hope vanished when he grabs her in the foyer of her house after they’ve flooed back to their street and walked the distance to the front porch because apparating while pregnant was not a good idea and she wouldn’t risk it.

“Why didn’t you tell me? You did this on purpose didn’t you?”

“Purpose?” She asked incredulously. “Who was it that insisted on not using protection because we are married?”

He flushed at that, angry at being called out his selfish desires and lack of planning. She knew it would happen eventually, but given that his demands on her person had generally been so far and in between, she thought perhaps she would have had a little more time before it did.

_ Apparently, not. _

“You should have said something! Now there’s no way to get rid of it! Mum would have a heart attack.”

Hermione looked at him horrified, a protective hand over her stomach as he paced, “Get rid of…”

Ron glared at her, “Yes, Hermione, didn’t you hear me? Get rid of it--now that the whole bloody family knows and no doubt all of the wizarding world knows there’s no way to get rid of it! Nothing good can come from another kid.”

Hermione’s head tilted at his wording.  _ Another kid? _

“What are you talking about Ron? Another kid? You said you wanted--” 

“Eventually, not now!” Ron hissed. “Haven't you noticed the abundance of children to the Weasley name,  _ Granger _ ?”

_ That hadn’t answered her question,  _ she realized, but rather that going into what he could possibly be talking about, she closed her mouth. Watching him pace,  she couldn’t understand what he was so freaked out about, so on edge. Children were wonderful, this child wouldn't be a Weasley if she had anything to say about it, and she did. Molly’s almost maddened look when she talked about babysitting and helping Hermione through her pregnancy made it not an option. Children were supposed to be cherished, not coveted like a treasure horde.

“You don’t have children because they’re  _ good _ for something--”

“You think I want to end up like my parents?! Financially drained, never having anything--I’ve been demoted and you think that whatever little change you get from running that silly clinic will last forever? Long enough to support a child?”

Hermione let out a breath, remembering her own pamphlets about stress and rubbing her stomach gently, soft strokes and warmth. Though the baby was just a few weeks old, she reacted to every change in hormones, every imbalance, every soothing touch even now. She had to remain calm, her marital problems were no longer affecting just her, but her baby as well and Ron didn't deserve the right to make anyone else feel so small, especially not their child. His financial panic had nothing to do with the rather comfortable bank accounts, wizarding and muggle, attached to her name. She made a quick mental note to start a school fund for muggle and wizarding school in case she had not magical abilities at all.

“Diapers and food and…”

“Ronald,” she said looking at him. “I--”

“Shut up,” he said holding up his hand looking at her meaningfully. “You did this. Whatever stupid plan you’ve cooked up, forget about it! This isn’t a game and it isn’t funny. Just… stay away from me until I figure out what to do.”

Hermione swallowed and watched him walk down the hall to the spare bedroom she hadn’t really seen the inside of unless he wanted her or he was gone for the day. She guessed it was nice that he hadn’t wanted the master bedroom, or didn't want to share it. Glad that his obsession with his finances led him to renting the spare bedroom from her. Either way, the master bedroom had almost always felt too big for just her,. She’d found most of her solace in the study with its low comfy couch and bookshelves. Ironically, it was good that she had the master to herself now that she could look forward to at least twenty pounds of extra weight to be added to her frame in the coming months. The separate shower and bath would come in handy. She could keep the baby in the room with her until she was old enough to stay in the nursery Hermione would outfit for her.

With a sigh, Hermione sank down onto the couch, holding the test papers from her clinic in her hand, her other hand resting on her stomach. Three weeks pregnant, that would explain the morning sickness and general lack of energy. She swallowed thinking wryly to something her mother’s mother said once. 

_ Love in a marriage is wishful thinking, dear, _ she’d said.  _ You get married to have children and they’ll love you far more than any man could. _

Her parents had always seemed pretty happy, but knowing what she knew of the masks that anyone could put on for loved ones she couldn't trust that. She knew her grandmother’s marriage was horrid, so at the very least she knew that Gaia was telling the truth as far as she knew it. She'd stayed married for her children, found her joy in them, love in them when she couldn't manage to find it anywhere else.

“Is that true?” she asked to the empty air, to the child who could not even hear her yet. “Could you?”

_ Would it be enough? _ She wondered. 

She set the page down and leaned back, breathing deeply, her eyes burning as she stared up into the ceiling. Gods knew that she needed someone to love her as she… couldn’t find it in herself to do so. But… was that fair to ask for love if she had none for herself?

She looked at her hands. Sometimes they seemed clean and sometimes there was blood dripping thick and endless from her fingertips. Death Eaters, her parents….hundreds of people dead...children… and so many others.

The thought makes the tears fall silent and bleak down her face as she rubbed her stomach and breathed deeply. She wouldn’t have a baby to have someone to love her. That wasn't fair to her or the baby.  She would have the baby to have someone to love and would accept that love unconditionally. It was a dangerous path to start thinking that her child owed her anything when in reality she owed this baby everything as it was her choice to bring -- a good life, love, happiness, patience, understanding and everything else that Hermione could give her material and not.

It was her choice to bring her into the world, her choice and her consequences She couldn’t let her own insecurities get in the way of raising the baby, of getting her into the world safely, of teaching her the joys and protecting her from the dangers. The stress wouldn’t be good for her, couldn’t be good for her or the baby. She stood up and walked into the kitchen, wiping her face to make a list of what she had and what she didn’t. Vitamins to get, consultations to have and schedule for herself.

Perhaps in caring for the baby, she'd find the strength to care for herself again.

When Witch’s Weekly comes to Gaia’s Temple to interview her, they ask her about the facilities, about the rumors of a new program being launched with the Ministry of Magic, tips on conception and fertility and finally they ask if it’s true.

“Yes,” she said with a bright smile, “I’m four weeks along and getting all of my check ups done right here at Gaia.”

“Talk about putting your money where your mouth is.”

She beamed, “Exactly.”

She isn’t surprised at the number of gifts that arrive in the next few days, the well-wishers, muggle and wizarding. Among them all is a letter that she isn’t expecting, not because she isn’t expecting the words, he had been there for the wedding after all, but because of what the letter says. 

_ Dear Hermione,  _

_ Congratulations! I read the paper and saw the announcement, how proud you looked, you seemed to be glowing. I wish you the best as I know how much this matters to you, not just for Gaia, but for the wonderful Mrs. Granger. Your parents would be proud and I am sure you and your Mr. Weasley will have a beautiful child.  _

_ I will be in England for the Memorial Gala, I hope to see you in person. It has been quite a long time has it not? In the meantime, please take care of yourself. Mama suggested I send you these things as well wishes. She swears by them all that they are the best for the aches and pains of pregnancy. _

_ Yours,  _

_ Viktor _

She smiled with a chuckle looking at the rather large basket. She’d had to brush up on several of her languages as her practice extended and people came from all over ther world after Draco’s daughter was born for a consultation. The remedies ranged from mild to severe and the labels were all handwritten in Viktor’s neat and slanting Cyrillic. She smiled, she was pretty sure these were secrets handed down through his family and tucked the basket and letter away, setting them all in her rolling bag and getting ready to leave for the evening. 

Ron isn’t there, no note on the counter, which leaves her blissfully alone to make herself a full meal, to eat and take the potions that she’d been prescribed. She laughed remembering how nervous Olivia, the daughter of an Irene, who was the sister of Molly’s Ira, had been when she’d come in for a check up. The potions were supposed to curb the nausea and help her sleep through the night.

She takes them faithfully and for a few days they work. Four days into the regiment, she can’t sleep. Despite the potion, she wakes up from the nausea and proceeds to run to the bathroom, covering her mouth and clutch the toilet bowl as her stomach emptied itself of everything. She hadn’t even dozed off completely when her stomach was in a riot. She would have to remember to go in and get a different set if possible.

Ron groaned hearing her once again, “How am I supposed to get any sleep with you making so much noise?”

She couldn’t answer him at another painful wretch, her eyes burning at how sick she felt as she rubbed her stomach. She heard him leave and let out a weak moan, trying to pull back once her stomach seemed to settle. 

She got up, to wash the taste from her mouth and shuffle down the hall, leaning against the wall trying to get to the kitchen. She knew well that ginger tea was supposed to help, but she’d been out of ginger as she’d been too sick to pick up any. Even the potions that she’d been given made her want to vomit and Ron had out right refused to bring her anything but ginger beer and soda that was more soda and other things that would send Hermione’s stomach tossing than actual ginger.

_ This is what Mum says works. I don’t have time to deal with you right now. Suck it up and just don’t eat for a while--probably do you some good. _

It was perhaps the cheapest “ginger” product he could find, the cheapest ever made. She had stopped asking him to buy anything for her after he’d plainly said that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with “it”.  The first time he’d said it, she’d laid into him so viciously that she shocked herself. 

She hadn’t realized that she could still do that…

Today, she looked through her cabinets to find anything that was remotely good as a substitution as the kettle boiled when she came upon the basket from Viktor. She written him back immediately, as well as all of her other well-wishers with thanks and updates and reached for it, forcing herself to remember which words were which when the letters changed to english at her touch. 

A magical basket with a translation charm… Gods he was so thoughtful.

_ Moodswings. _

_ Pains. _

_ Insomnia. _

_ Morning Sickness. _

She turned the bag over and followed the instructions, mixing it with plain warm water and just enough of the powder. It smelled like honey and ginger and made her smile. Her stomach seemed to relax just from the scent of it and she drank, the warmth calming her down and easing her stomach.  She walked to the master bedroom and climbed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly and waking up more refreshed than she had in a long time. 

She made herself an emergency kit for work and wrote to Viktor begging for the recipe or somewhere she could buy it herself as it was the only thing she’d tried that had not only made it easy to sleep, but easier to get food down and keep it there for longer than a week. His mother sent her recipes, well-wishes and a few books. She loved the woman already and they'd never met in person.

When Molly came to visit her, convinced that she had to be suffering and excusing Ronald for being neglectful because of being “busy” at the Auror Corp, Hermione receives the potions and ginger products she’d brought kindly, but can’t bring herself to take them as they were the standard pregnancy potions that had long since been proven to ineffective for her and most women.  For heaven’s sake, Hermione had improved all of the potions that Molly had given her the year she’d opened the line of pregnancy emergency kits to help clueless couples with the hormonal changes. 

To have these brands that had long since gone out of manufacturing and would never update their recipe given to her, almost felt like an insult. She cleared that thought away knowing that the Weasleys had it rather rough, while coming from a pureblood family, they didn’t have the wealth the Malfoy family did. To add to their several children and several generations living in the Burrow with them was enough to tell Hermione that this was probably the best Molly could give her.

She checked the expiration dates and could have groaned. They were also old, old enough to have been from the time Ginny was born and far past their expiration date. They were more suited to magical waste or fertilizer additives than pregnancy.

“How are you dear?” Molly asked watching Hermione prepare her normal tea which she’d begun to call Bulgarian magic for its sheer effectiveness.

“Fantastic,” she said beaming at her mother-in-law and whipping up her tea along with her vitamins to eat breakfast.

“What is that?” Molly asked, eyeing her mug.

“Tea for my nausea,” she said. “A gift that has seen me through more than one sleepless night.”

Molly eyed her and the package that Hermione rolled up carefully.

“A gift from who?” Molly asked suspiciously.

“Viktor’s mother,” she said, folding the package closed and putting it in the cabinet before starting to eat the meal she'd prepared. “She’s a healer in Sofia who specializes in pediatrics.”

“Viktor Krum? You still speak to him? Though you’re a married woman?”

Hermione frowned looking at Molly curiously, “I don’t understand what you’re getting at. What does me being married have to do with speaking to him--”

“It’s not  _ appropriate _ to speak to men who pursued you once you’re married, surely your mother told you that?”

Hermione lifted an eyebrow, “Appropriate? And what exactly is so inappropriate about keeping in contact with--”

“I thought that inviting him to the wedding would have sent a message loud and clear that you were taken,” Molly said indignantly. “Ronald surely doesn’t know about this.”

“Viktor is a dear friend,” Hermione said. “I’m not hiding anything. Ronald knows full well I still keep in contact with him as I have told him so.”

“Friends,” she scoffed. “Men and women can’t be friends. And what should you need these things for? Why isn’t English medicine good enough? What’s in that tea that isn’t in these potions?”

“More ingredients than I could name of better quality,” Hermione said. “And the potions don’t work for me, I’ve tried. These...are also expired.”

“They were good enough for me,” Molly grumbled.

“Well Molly, I do have a very different make-up,” she said with a smile. “Being a different person and all.”

Molly glowered at her, huffing and collecting the vials she’d brought, “Quite, well you should watch your  _ make-up _ before you get any bigger. Just because you’re pregnant dear doesn’t mean you have to let yourself go.”

Hermione’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth and she looked at Molly.

“Ronald had voiced some concern about the stress of the clinic and all this nonsense making you gain weight, if you keep on this rate you’ll be even bigger when the baby arrives.”

Hermione swallowed lowering her fork and regarding her, “So… you came because of that?”

“These potions suppress your appetite, dear. You’ll be much better off,” Molly said and reached for her plate.

Hermione slid it out of her reach as well as her mug.

“I… am pregnant,” Hermione said. “I’m not meant to be suppressing my appetite at all. And my work doesn’t stress me out in the slightest.”

_ You son however… _

“All I’m saying dear is that if you keep going, you may have a baby, but you won’t have a husband.”

“If Ronald wants to leave me, he bloody well can do it without an excuse,” Hermione said. 

It’s quiet and Hermione realizes that Molly’s eyes are shocked, frightened. She paled significantly, but Hermione can’t figure out what that look meant. If her mother were here she would have been able to tell her. 

It’s interesting how much it hurts to think about that.

Molly swallowed and looked around at her tone, “Your kitchen… must have cost Ron a pretty galleon.”

“It cost  _ me _ what I was willing to pay for it. It’s my house, or did Ron not tell you that?”

“Dear, you know wizarding law doesn’t work like that.”

“It’s a dual deed,” she said. “And wizarding law still work that way in the case of split property. My name is on it , not his, per his request. Not a single knut from his pocket went into this house save his bed and what he pays to  _ rent _ every month.”

“R-Request?” Molly asked, pale. “What on earth could you mean by that?”

Hermione continued eating her steak, eggs, and stir-fried cabbage medley. Molly watched her in awe and horror. 

“I paid for this house,” Hermione said. “Because he felt he couldn’t afford what I wanted.”

“Are you mad?” Molly asked. “No wonder you and Ron are on the fritz, saying such things! I don’t know how it works in the muggle world, but you’re a wizard dear and that comes with certain obligations to family and your husband.”

“Like?”

“Your name for instance,” she said. “You haven’t changed your name.”

“And I never will.”

“And why not?”

“It’s personal,” she said.

“Personal! You are married, there is no such thing as  _ personal _ .”

“Ron and I have already had this discussion,” Hermione said and looked at her. “And I will tell you the same thing I told him.  My name is Hermione Jean Granger and whether I am married to Ronald Weasley or not, that will not change.”

Molly shook her head, “I didn’t think that the Weasley name was so far  _ below _ you. How rude for a muggle-born to look down upon a pureblood name. We may not be Malfoys, but we are of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

Hermione scoffed shaking her head, “It has nothing to do with--”

“Why marry a man if you will not take his name?”

“Why does changing my name, sacrificing who I am, have to be a part of marriage?”

“I should like to speak to your mother and perhaps you will listen to her. Did she not take your father’s name?”

Hermione stiffened at the words, the tone and the truth of it. 

“Granger is my mother’s last name,” she said looking at her evenly. “My father changed his last name.”

Molly gawked and stood shaking her head, “Crazy muggles.”

Hermione watched her go, happy for it and rubbing her stomach eating. 

“You’ll be a Granger too, sweet pea,” she said softly. “And I love you. I want you and there won’t be a day that goes by that you won’t know how much.”

She smiled at the feeling of her daily affirmation washing over her and continued to eat, happy that the house was empty again. Molly would probably tell Ron all about it, perhaps he would come home in a fit. Perhaps she’d screech at Harry long enough for him to come over for a reprieve, or maybe not. 

Either way she was going to enjoy her steak, eggs, cabbage, and tea. She washed her dishes, put them away and grabbed her rolling suitcase, being sure to have everything before locking the door behind her and walking out. 

Her phone rang and she smiled, “Hey sis’.”


	3. The Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His instincts are usually on point...
> 
> And it's not like Ron is exactly making it hard to think it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought I forgot about this one. :P

“Come on Hermione! We’re going to be late!” Ron yelled through the door, fixing his robes in the hall mirror. “It’s not as though anyone is going to be looking at you besides to say how big you’ve gotten. What's taking you all day?”

Hermione didn’t comment but came out stroking her stomach. Now at six months, the nausea was relatively settled, her cravings were still a little wild, but tameable. Molly had come several times to try and be supportive, but it always ended up with an argument especially when it came to food or money. Why Molly didn’t seem to understand that Ron’s financial woes were not her own, she didn’t understand. What financial woes that he'd racked up weren't her own either. Ron had been insistent that they have separate accounts, separate things, to not discuss finances unless it was absolutely necessary.

_ We’ll split the bills in half,  _  he’d said.  _ You manage your money and I’ll manage mine. _

She hadn’t cared either way. She made more than him as a healer and fertility specialist in the muggle world, let alone the wizarding one. Ron had insisted upon the division out of fear of being henpecked like his father who never seemed to have a knut for himself since Molly didn’t work and spent all of her time taking care of the Burrow. She respected that and they’d written it into their marriage contract along with several other things that had seemed important at the time. 

Wizarding marriages were so much easier than muggle ones. You were married by magical contracts that didn’t require any official of any sort, you registered your marriage and things, but dissolving a marriage was literally as simple as dissolving the contract--burning it to be specific. A copy of it was taken to the Ministry but all in all it was only to keep track of lineages and things of that nature. If you didn t change your last name most people didn't even call you a Mrs.. After they’d been married, after the honeymoon, she’d bought the house outright and he paid rent every month, bemoaning the expense as well as whatever else.

She’d offered to live apart as she wouldn’t be leaving her house and that had led to him claiming the spare bedroom for himself rather than returning to the Burrow.

She bought food and he paid half the bill, or at least the half that he’d taken as his own. What he did with the rest of his money, she had no idea and couldn’t bring herself to care. Since the alcohol cabinet was always stocked and he seemed to always have new robes or whatever Quidditch thing that had caught his fancy, she didn’t ask, but he always asked her. 

_ When did you buy this?-- When I felt like it. _

_ How much did this cost?-- As much as I paid for it. _

_ Another book? Really? Don’t you have enough of those?-- Well, I also pay to store them in the house I own, so no. I don't think I do.  _

She couldn't remember the last time she answered one of those questions with something other than clear defiance. He hadn't liked it the first time or the second, but after she started asking him about his new purchases and where her rent was, he dropped it and paid her on time.

It had been an interesting journey, the past six months. She would daresay she'd grown stronger. She was quick to end arguments with Ron now rather than avoiding them. Her home life had improved significantly in that he never seemed to be home and everyday she felt a little more like she had in the years leading up to the war. Assured, confident, intelligent--worthwhile.

She was done it felt like trying to seek any sort of affection from him. She was in a loveless marriage, she’d accepted that. She’d failed at it, but she was still there. She’d taken a vow and the baby girl who was on the way deserved to know her father.  Sure, she had a feeling that Harry would end up being more of a father to her daughter than Ron, but that was no matter. 

She would be parent enough for the both of them, showering her with all the love Hermione had, but could not give to herself.She’d even picked out a name for her: Adia after her father’s mother, her favorite grandmother who, with her grandfather, taught her all number of things, including a love for cooking.

_ You'll be loved dear, _ she thought, even with all of the blood on her hands. The thick and sticky mess wouldn't touch her little girl.

“Come on,” Ron huffed walking ahead of her towards the door and apparating.

She put her wand in her purse and locked the door behind her to walk to the street’s fireplace and floo to the banquet hall. She found him in the center of the crowd speaking to several Aurors, but didn’t heed it. She smiled as people came to take pictures of her, six months pregnant and absolutely glowing. Harry and Ginny arrived hugging her tightly and kissing her cheek in greeting before helping her in.

When it’s time for speeches, Ron gives the opening address. Something she can’t figure out if he volunteered for or was told to do as he was literally only introducing the main speakers: Harry, the British Minister of Magic, Kingsley, leader of the International Quidditch League, and her. 

She knows the moment he realizes that she’s on the program as a main speaker because his jaw tensed for a moment before giving a tight smile to the crowd. 

“Now for an address from the Leader of the International Quidditch League.”

Ron stepped aside and took a seat beside her as the man came up and hissed in her ear.

“Why are you on the program? You didn’t think to tell me?”

“I did tell you,” she said.

“What? How to have children behind your husband’s back?”

Hermione’s jaw tensed and she didn’t even look at him, focusing on scanning the crowd before looking at her hands and her speech notes. 

Viktor sat with his team, there with the other team they’d be playing against for the World Cup and curious. His eyes were as dark as she remembered, as intelligent and observant too. She wondered what he saw, what he thought of her now. 

Was he surprised? Saddened?

There was no telling with viktor sometimes,he defied all of her logical expectations on a good day and defied any of her fantasies on a bad one. 

She smirked taking him in. The hormones telling her that he’d gotten even more handsome since the last time she'd seen him in the news. 

*

“She has grown up quite well,” Sergei said nodding to Hermione on the stage.

Yes, she had. Her stomach round with her unborn daughter, skin glowing and a certain kind of light in her eyes that only dims at whatever Ron had to say to her.  She’s beautiful far more beautiful than the photos in the newspapers. He’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was in person, every facet of her personality written in the curves her face, the depth of her eyes. 

Gorgeous, but there was something off. Something he couldn’t quite place. It’s when Ron calls her to podium, his voice a little stilted that Viktor frowns.  Rather than helping Hermione stand as it was quite obviously a challenge in her state, he stepped aside. Harry had hand on her back, one holding her hand to help her stand and she thanked him before taking the podium, bumping it slightly and laughing. 

“Forgive me, I haven’t quite gotten used to the future attached to my midsection.”

A laugh went through the crowd, and Viktor only shook his head, remembering how very funny she was when she wanted to be. How easily could make him laugh with her wit. A hand rested on her stomach as she pressed her wand to her throat. Standing, he could see that she’d grown a little taller, but had filled out all the curves he’d thought she was destined to have. Full, wide and dangerous hips, an impressive bust and a rather slim waist considering the stage in her pregnancy. She’d looked powerful and sensual in the papers but now he could only think of Gaia, old depictions of the earth goddess, swollen with a child and full-bodied like a heady glass of red wine.

“It has been two years since the end of the war, two brilliant years of love, healing, and growth for the wizarding world. And as I stand here today, I speak for all of Gaia’s Temple employees and benefactors in saying that this is only the beginning. A few months ago, the Minister of Magic and the Department of Health came to Gaia’s Temple with an idea and hope that Gaia’s could deliver it.

In the past, pre-natal care in the wizarding world had little organization and order. Though the wizarding world had a lot of information about wizarding pregnancies and the like, it was not centralized nor very accessible to those who needed it most. The remedies that were good enough for generations before, whether they were effective, problematic, or harmful were held as the standard by which future generations should hope to continue the wizarding race. 

The Minister asked Gaia’s Temple to undertake the process of researching, documenting, upgrading, collecting and disseminating this information across country lines so that the wizarding people would not die out, but the population would grow. I am here to announce the first iteration of the “For the Future” Program which will include pre-natal care from the moment of discovery until the second year of the child’s life including nutrition, wellness, and preparedness for witches and wizards. We’ve partnered with every wizarding hospital in the world to roll this program out in every country so that every child has a chance and the wizarding community may continue to grow. “

Viktor smirked and almost chuckled. That would explain why his mother was so very excited. She was a healer at Sofia’s main hospital in the pediatric unit and had been trying to pull her administration towards doing more for women who came in pregnant rather than prescribing the same potions over and over again. 

“I’d like to thank every Healer that has helped us make this possible, every botany facility, every witch and wizard who contributed to the program and hope for their continued support in the days to come.”

Viktor clapped and couldn’t help but smile. A brilliant woman, so very passionate about her work that she herself was going through the program, he knew, probably the first to enroll in it given it was her company where it originated. 

He watched Ron not even help Hermione get back to her seat, but finished up the speeches and opens the floor to dancing. It’s Harry that gets her off the stage and to a table before kissing her cheek to pull his wife, Ginny Weasley, onto the floor. Viktor stood and approached the table. 

“Hermione,” he greeted and she looked up, whatever gloom had been there vanished as she looked up at him and struggled to stand, but he soothed her with a hand on her back. “Is okay, mila. I will sit with you.”

She smiled and watched him pull up a chair, looking at her, one hand on her stomach, stroking slowly.

*

He looked so very different now. It hadn't been her imagination or hormones that told her he'd changed for the better. He’d cut his hair, his jaw had firmed a bit more, his cheekbones pronounced, but he was still as beautiful in his intensity as ever. It seemed that he’d broken his nose once more as well.

“Is good to see you, mila,” he said smiling at her, his dimples showing and making her smile as well. “How are you feeling?”

“Well,” she said with a hum. “My feet hurt, my back aches, I have the strangest craving for ice cream and steak, but all in all I’m doing wonderfully.”

Viktor chuckled, “I see. I am sure if you ask, elf will get you whatever you want.”

She shook her head, “No need. I’m supposed to be cutting back after all. No sense in getting any bigger.”

He frowned, “Are not big, mila. You are pregnant.”

Her lips twitched and her other hand came to wrap around her belly. 

Viktor swallowed at the obviously protective and consoling gesture. What had he said to make her feel uneasy? It's shocking that after all this time he hates to see her like this, but can't place what he’s said.

“How are you?” She asked. “The World Cup is coming up soon, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, distancing himself from his own thoughts to respond. “Da. Next week. Am nervous, I think, but not so bad. You will come? Will be at same place as last World Cup.”

She shook her head, “I’ll be probably laid up in bed, getting bigger. I wouldn’t be able to manage the stairs, but I’ll root for you.”

“Am playing Chudley Cannons,” he said. “Would root for me still?”

She winced, “Really?”

He chuckled, “No mila, am not playing Chudley Cannons. Play Frankfurt Flames.”

She glowered at him, “You were testing me. For shame to be so mean to a pregnant woman.”

“Only wanted to know how much attention was on game, not mean to harm.”

She snorted, her arms relaxing, leaving just one absently stroking the swell of her stomach. It made him smile at the obviously loving habit. She’d relaxed, no longer on the defensive and that was good.

“You know I can hardly keep track,” she said. “And that’s only because I have scarves for the two teams I cheer for.”

His eyes widened, “You keep scarf?”

She gave him a hopeless look, “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

VIktor swallowed, “Was… long time ago, mila.”

Hermione nodded, “It was, but it’s a precious memory from a much simpler time. Besides, it was so gorgeous I couldn’t throw it away.”

It was odd knowing that he could never tell her how much that meant to him. When he’d given it to her, he’d done it under the guise that she seemed cold. In reality, he’d wanted her to have something from him, in his team’s colors, in his favorite color as a way to remember him. He’d thought she’d thrown it out or lost it during the war. 

“I don’t think I can thank you and Ekaterina enough,” she said with a sigh. “I thought for sure I would hurl my soul up before I had some of that tea.”

“Would taste better than spinach, yes?”

She groaned, “Don’t say spinach, please. I don’t think I can take another leafy green anything, in any form, for at least another day.”

He laughed and asked the elf to bring her something to eat, anything she wanted and though she squirmed under the attention, she asked for a fully rounded meal, very greek meal as her baby girl seemed to agree well with the mediterranean these days. They talked about the clinic, her life outside of it, plans and eventually stumbled upon her marriage.

“You are happy, yes?”

She gave him a small smile and looked towards where Ron was chatting with a junior Auror, a young woman who looked at him the way Lavender looked at him in school. Said woman was nowhere around it seemed, she knew she'd been missing for quite sometime almost two years or so since she barely survived the end of the war.

“I’m okay.”

Viktor nodded swallowing, “Am sorry if I ask and should not.”

She shook her head, rubbing her stomach, “It’s not your fault.”

“You have had baby shower, yes?” He asked.

She shook her head looking at him, “No. Apparently wizards don’t have baby showers, or at least the Weasleys don’t. Adriana and friends from the muggle side are throwing me one… I know Gaia wants to have one for me.”

Viktor nodded, “Have gift list? Wizards do have baby shower, probably more grand than muggles.”

“You...could come,” she said with a smile. “I was planning on invited everyone else I know and give them the ground muggle rules. I’d love to actually meet the woman who’s saved my sleep since month one.”

Viktor smiled and nodded, “Would like.”

Hermione smiled and opened her mouth before Ron came over, a drink in his hand. 

“You should go home,” he said looking at her pointedly. “I don’t think anyone else is going to want to talk to you.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed looking between them and she smiled, returning to wrapping both arms around her stomach before he left. 

“I’m sorry Viktor,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Seems that I’ve embarrassed myself.”

“No, mila,” he said returning his gaze to her. “Not shame. Never shame with me.”

Hermione looked at him and smiled, “You’re… so very kind to me Viktor, even when I’m not kind to myself--”

She gasped looking down a hand on her stomach and he froze.

“Are alright? Need help?”

“She kicked,” she said, softly awed. “It’s the first time.”

Viktor grinned at her, “May I?”

She nodded, letting him reach out and lay a hand on her stomach. He felt the little foot against his palm and smiled. 

“Is strong girl,” he said. “Like mother.”

She smiled, “Might as well sign her up for little league football.”

He frowned, “What is football?”

She chuckled, “It’s a muggle sport, with any luck she’ll inherit her mother’s love for the ground.”

Viktor laughed, “Did not seem to mind when on broom with me.”

Hermione smiled and Viktor stammered, flushed at the mentioning of that night. The night they first kissed. It was a sweet memory for him, one that he'd kept close to the heart even seeing her walk down the aisle towards Ron who would never appreciate her the way she deserved. 

“Did not mean-- did not mean to be inappropriate, slipped. Not thinking.”

“It’s okay,” she said smiling. “I know. Now if you could help me perhaps get out of this bloody chair and to the fireplace, I think I may take my husband’s suggestion and go home. Planning my own baby shower is hard.”

“Planning? Weasley mother not help?”

She sighed, “As I said, Weasleys don’t really do baby showers.”

Viktor stood, brow furrowing and helped her up with a gentle hand to support her and to steady her before escorting her to the fireplace.

“Would tell me where? Mama love baby showers,” he said humorously. “Always ask about you, fear writing may be-- how do you say-- difficult? Uncomfortable?”

“Awkward?” She asked.

“Da, that is word.”

“I would love it if she wrote to me and…” she reached into her bag looking for a draft invitation. “Here are all the details, it’s just a draft invitation, but just in case my hormonal brain forgets to send it to the correct address.”

Viktor took the card from her. “Will tell her. Be warned. She will write and fuss properly.”

She nodded, “I think I’d be okay with that.”

Viktor nodded and stepped back to kiss her hand and bid her goodnight before watching her disappear in a flare of green flames. He wandered back to where Sergei was, tucking the card in his robes and contemplating why the Weasleys wouldn’t be celebrating the baby. Sure, they had an impressive band of children, but every new life, especially after the war, should be treated as precious, a celebration to be had. 

He frowned and thought back to the event. Ron had seemed completely disinterested, apathetic, almost contemptuous of Hermione’s part to play in the event. Harry, as usual, seemed quite happy to duck out of the spotlight, but there was something else. There was something about Ron’s actions that were bothering. 

The woman who had been fawning over him maybe, their body language, the look in her eyes, the darkness in Ron’s. 

_ Could he be? _

His heart clenched and he growled in anger. Only weak men cheated and to cheat on someone as wonderful as Hermione---

_ Your Burgas rage is showing, _ he heard Hermione’s voice, just a little bit of a laugh in it. 

He chuckled at the memory and ran a hand through his hair. He knew nothing for sure, so there was no telling what their married life was actually like. 

Then again… his instincts had never led him astray before.


End file.
